Wednesday March 11th is the day the World Health Organization officially sounded the alarm and named coronavirus, or covid-19, a pandemic. The news resulted in an unprecedented run on grocery stores all over my city and elsewhere. Prior to that, we were aware about the disease but naivete kept us clinging on to oblivion. We somehow reassured ourselves that the fire was burning on the other side of the globe and the smoke couldn’t possibly travel this far out. It wasn’t until pandemonium erupted across Iran, followed by Italy, that it all began to feel real. The disease was, indeed, traveling at the speed of flames and it was only a matter of time before the United States was engulfed.
A day earlier, a friend had innocently asked on social media: ‘Everyone is shopping like crazy… should I be worried?’
Some dismissed her apprehension by sharing coronavirus related memes, while others advised her to stock up on basics if that’s what it took to ease her mind. The next morning, I visited three different grocery stores after dropping the kids off at school. I was armed with a simple list of necessities and I imagined it wouldn’t take too long to get everything I needed. And I was right. It took me a total of two hours of leisurely shopping before I returned home and turned the news channel on.
Right after coronavirus was declared a pandemic, people descended upon grocery stores in droves but that didn’t phase me at all. My pantry was stocked with all that I needed. I was, however, desperately waiting for the schools to dismiss the kids before spring break could commence. The danger of little ones lurking outside the home was simply too great to ignore. That said, my pantry was not ready for an extended break. It is no secret that kids are hungry all the time, particularly on days off.
My husband offered to visit the grocery store after work but I talked him out of it. I could easily work my way through the aisles the next morning, I reassured him, so he could rest easy. But he started receiving messages left and right about how shelves were already barren. The pandemic had brought on wide-spread panic!
‘There is no hand sanitizer anywhere and absolutely no toilet paper!’ he exclaimed.
‘I was there this morning… everything was fine! … And if all else fails, there’s Amazon.’
Boy, was I wrong! He went to the store around 9 p.m. and was able to salvage some water filters and snacks but nothing else. There wasn’t even any Tylenol left on the shelves. Meanwhile, I checked Amazon and other websites and found everything out of stock.
The next morning, I drove to Costco. Even though there were still ten minutes left before opening time, I found myself stuck in heavy traffic leading up to the store. After parking remarkably close to the gate, I rushed in to find about a hundred people ahead of me. The usher did not even bother checking ID’s. I had an hour to shop there before heading over to my hair appointment. So, I shopped with purpose. I knew I would need about thirty minutes to check out and ten minutes to drive to my appointment. So, all I could spare in the aisles was roughly twenty minutes. I’m glad I had a plan because I was able to conquer my list in the time allotted.
All around me, there were people shopping as if the world was coming to an end. Anything that could fit in the cart needed to be hauled home, I suppose. I lined up to pay. A casual glance to my right brought my attention to a cart loaded with six cases of 48-pack water, a mountain of pop cans, meat, and of course candy. I looked behind and saw the line stretching all the way to the back of the store where we typically find dairy products. I felt it might be awkward to take pictures but then I noticed some shoppers taking selfies next to a large empty shelf where toilet paper once resided. I can only imagine how they might’ve worded their social media captions and hashtags following the shopping trip. ‘Hashtag Pandemic,’ anyone? It has a nice ring to it.
My estimate was correct. It took half an hour to check out. I quickly loaded my car and managed to help an elderly lady fit two 48-packs into her trunk before heading over to my appointment.
I barely made it home before the kids returned and was surprised that there was still no word about school closures. I had a hunch, however, that it was only a matter of time before there would be an announcement. The next morning, I took a final look at the pantry and realized I had forgotten to stock up on ethnic ingredients. One more trip was necessary even though I wasn’t really thrilled about navigating aisles robbed by pandemic-induced panic.
Our desi stores don’t open before 11 a.m. so I made a trip in between to Home Depot and Lowe’s just to see if they might have hand sanitizers. Their websites showed very low stock levels but at least they weren’t completely sold out… so the visit was warranted! It turned out they had nothing of the sort on their shelves. A couple other moms was fishing for the same products and ended up walking out with cleaning agents. As I stood in the check-out lane, a lady came bustling in and asked the cashier if there was any toilet paper in store. The other shoppers stifled their laughter.
A moment later, I received a text announcing early school closure. Finally!
I drove to Mariano’s next to see if I could pick up some more snacks for the kids. All of their favorite things plus, of course, fruit. As I navigated the aisles, it suddenly dawned upon me… ‘When does it all end? When do we finally realize we have enough in our carts?’
Clearly, panicked shopping is a very different experience altogether. It indicates a desperate attempt to control the uncontrollable while strangling any feeling of guilt that comes with not being prepared enough for the inevitable. There is no other way to define it.
I told myself enough was enough and lined up in the check-out lane, once again. I waited a half hour before I could exit that line. As I pushed the cart out of the store, I noticed a package of deli meat in the middle of the road. Someone, in their panic, must’ve dropped it.
The desi store was open by now. Aside from myself, there were two other customers there. The shopkeeper was wearing a mask and gloves. His shelf-top oven was lined with freshly baked samosas. Who in their right mind would buy them? The other two were laughing and loading their carts with anything they could get their hands on. Pandemic? What pandemic? … It was obvious that the coronavirus jokes were still plentiful but now one could witness visible caution and preparation folded into the mix. Change was finally on the horizon.
I picked up a bag of flour and twenty pounds of rice, amongst a few other things. Costco had long run out of the latter two. I wondered how long it might be before these shelves, too, meet a similar fate.
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